


Trust Falls

by Arvensis5



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, BAMF Loki, Banter, Canon Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, FrostIron Reverse Bang, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marvel Universe, Norwegian Mythology & Folklore, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Post-Iron Man 3, Slow Burn, Snark, Warning: Loki, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvensis5/pseuds/Arvensis5
Summary: “S’nice,” Stark remarked, once Loki’s light-making spell had ricocheted across the walls. “Kinda blue, though.” The ice glowed a faint blue in places, lighter in color where the surface wasn’t as thickly layered with sheets of frozen water, darker in places where the light didn’t reach. ”I was expecting more…. I dunno. White?”It reminded Stark of something he’d seen somewhere, once, on TV maybe. A movie about a mountain climber falling into a crevice while scaling a mountain. Which, well, that probably didn’t end well, now that he thought about it. They didn’t make movies about mountain climbing that ended well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My artist is the wonderful [Araydre](http://araydre.tumblr.com) (araydre.tumblr.com) - you can find her art [here](http://araydre.tumblr.com/post/159873208372). Her art is GORGEOUS and I hope that even though my writeup for today is short, that she's pleased with the result.
> 
> We were both particularly crazy with work in March, so it was a match for writing/art made in heaven, aka Tumblr. Thanks to Pluma for organizing as usual! Painless and masterfully thought out, her bangs and reverse bangs are the only ones I'm writing for, especially with the crazy right now.
> 
> And THANK YOU AGAIN, darling Araydre, for such a beautiful work with a lot of open-ended freedom in the prompt!

* * *

_Surtr moves from the south_  
_with the scathe of branches:_  
_there shines from his sword  
_ _the sun of Gods and the Slain_

* * *

“S’nice,” Stark remarked, once Loki’s light-making spell had ricocheted across the walls. “Kinda blue, though.” The ice glowed a faint blue in places, lighter in color where the surface wasn’t as thickly layered with sheets of frozen water, darker in places where the light didn’t reach. ”I was expecting more…. I dunno. White?”

It reminded Stark of something he’d seen somewhere, once, on TV maybe. A movie about a mountain climber falling into a crevice while scaling a mountain. Which, well, that probably didn’t end well, now that he thought about it. They didn’t make movies about mountain climbing that ended well.

Tony paced, examining the ice structures up close. A few were impressively detailed, with fragments of ice and rock poking through the surface, a veritable moonscape this far underground. “Would make a good vacation spot, if it weren’t—” he checked his internal sensors, “Wow, negative 60 Celsius. And you know, in a cave. I hate caves.”

Loki grunted, fixated on the green glow that encircled his palms from where knelt on the ice, his back towards Stark. Before him the ice-cavern floor had been swept clear of rubble, shards of ice and rock entwined into a mush-like surface warmed as Loki’s hands swept across it, again. The green light pulsated once, twice, before disappearing into the ice.

“Can I ask you another question, Lokes?”

“No,” the man huffed. “But you will do so anyway.”

“You said you’ve been here before.”

“Yes. A thousand of your earth years ago.”

“Uh huh.” Stark shifted on his feet again, scanning the entrance. “Why was that again? Not exactly the first place I’d stop on Earth, even a thousand years ago…”

“Punishment,” Loki muttered casually under his breath. As though he’d just commented on the weather. Cold and sunny, actually, with a spot of rain due later in the day.

Tony glanced over his shoulder again. Loki’s hands were glowing green, fingers contorted in a complex pattern as he shifted each digit to the beat of some sort of archaic wave or tune that only he could hear. The light pulsated from his fingertips, before disappear again into the ice, as the surface faded from violent green to a dull, soft pastel shade lit from below.

“Punishment?” Stark’s repulsor boots crunched on the ice. He paced a few steps closer to the entrance. It was quiet. _Too_ quiet. “So Daddy Odin sent you to an ice cave instead of your room, back on Asgard? That’s, um… I mean, my old man wasn’t ever going to be considered father of the year material, but an _ice cave_?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Stark.”

“Never do, Snowflake.”

Stark shifted again. Ice underneath his repulsors felt wrong, like he was attempting to skate while wearing a steamroller suit. He felt like a Zamboni, except he was pretty sure the suit was scuffing up the ice rather than resurfacing it, if the way the ice cracked and crinkled as he walked was any indication.

But what he liked even less was that the ice made the suit feel hesitant when he had to take flight. Sure he’d fixed the little de-icing problem—when _flying_ —but his entire upward mobility depended on downward thrust, and when the surface you were, er, _thrusting_ off of, melted on contact…. It didn’t exactly give him confidence in his reaction time.

“Almost done?” Stark’s repulsor-clad fingers tapped nervously at his chest plate, where the reactor had been once upon a time. Old habits, yadi yadi yada... Tony grimaced, stilling his fingers as the metallic sound of his drumbeats echoed around the cavern walls.

“No,” Loki murmured, this time sounding further away than he had before. Tony turned, surprised to find the glowing bit had grown in diameter, almost a foot across now. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“No.”

“Oh, well,” Tony shifted on his feet, letting the edge of the boots crunch a little more loudly than necessary. “That’s good. Good thing I, you know, told everyone I know to fuck off and go on this adventure with you, if it’s not going to—”

“Stark,” Loki hissed.

“Yeah, yeah, you need—”

“—to concentrate!” 

Stark grimaced, pacing a few feet away from Loki.  “I just don’t like caves.”

It was a few minutes before Loki shifted back on his heels, cradling his right wrist. “Is this—” Loki hissed as he turned his palm upward, “—dislike of yours for any particular reason?”

“Hmm?” Stark glanced at the Asgardian, then did a double take. “What dislike? Are you okay, Lokes, you look—”

“I’m fine.”

“Your palm is, um. It’s um, bubbling.”

“I know.”

Tony sighed, flipping up the faceplate. “Look. This little… truce? I guess? Doesn’t mean we have to be best friends, yeah, but it might be easier, just a teensy bit, if we can talk about what’s going on? Our feelings, you know? Hopes? Dreams? Or you know, for example...your skin—it’s actually bubbling. _Bubbling_. Like soup!”

Loki twisted to sit on the ice, the barest hint of a grimace in his uncoordinated movements as he extended his palm towards Stark. “It’s overload, Stark.”

“Overload?” Tony scoffed.

“Yes.”

“Like a magical version of overdosing?”

“Precisely,” Loki cradled his palm in his lap, long white-knuckled fingers wrapped around his wrist as though he could stop the pain from traveling through his bones. “My nerves are overloaded, because the magical pathways that extend throughout my body, throughout the body of _every_ magical creature in this universe _except_ for Midgardians, are taxed beyond their capacity.”

“So you just overdosed on the magic?”

“Yes,” Loki grimaced. He slowly lowered his palm to the ice, letting the cool surface melt and sizzle under his flesh.

“Can I ask a dumb question?” Stark asked a moment later 

“Have you asked any other sort of question since we’ve met?”

“Har har, so funny I forgot to laugh,” Stark leaned forward. This close and even in the sub-zero temperatures, he could feel the heat radiating from Loki’s hand, like standing too close to a campfire, with none of the nasty smoke. “Does that hurt?”

“Of course it bloody well hurts!” Loki hissed. “What do you think I am, made of rubber and metal? My skin is bubbling, you imbecile!”

The edge of Stark’s lips turned up in the barest of smiles. “See? Look at you, talking about your feelings. Sharing is caring, Lokes.”

The green-eyed man rolled his eyes. “I have no desire to _share_ with _you_ , Stark.”

“Yes, you do,” Tony offered the other man a wink. “Otherwise you’d have come alone.”

“My need for someone to watch my back against your _Avengers_ does not mean I want to _share_ ,” Loki hissed again, this time as he removed his hand from the icy slush that the bubbling skin-surface had created.

Stark blinked. “You.. um…”

“Yes?” Loki queried. His sharp grin was all teeth, and it set Stark on edge. “Do tell, Stark. _Sharing is caring_ , is it not?”

“You’re blue.” Stark gestured to Loki’s hand; the skin had stopped bubbling like an unwatched pot of water, but now from where the god’s forearm disappeared into his sleeves until the tips of his fingers, the previously pale flesh had turned cobalt, with sharp, black nails at the tips of the other man’s fingers.

“What a novel observation, Mr. Stark.” Loki studied the patterns across his palm and wrist. “I’m touched that you noticed.”

“Why are you blue?”

“Why don’t you like caves?”

Tony turned back towards the entrance, letting his face mask fall in place. “Forget I asked.”

“Oh come now, Stark,” Loki chidded. “You said it yourself. We may not be, what did you call it, _best friends_ , but it might be easier if we, hmm, talk about our _feelings_?”

Stark shifted to his other foot, digging the heel into the ice to brace himself. One of his perimeter drones registered vibrations, but it was too far off to tell if it were mechanical. He let the facemask flip up, meeting Loki’s eyes before he gave an exaggerated shrug with the suit. “You tell me about Thanos, and I’ll tell you about Afghanistan.”

Loki barked a laugh, bitter and hysterical at the edges. “Stark, if I began to tell you about the Mad Titan now, I’ll never be able to complete my spellwork. And _that_ would truly be a shame, would it not?”

“Yeah,” Stark dropped the faceplate back in place. “Shame.”

For a moment, the only sounds Tony could make out were the echoes of his own breathing inside the helmet and the measured chuckles of the god behind him, before the other man let out a terribly long sigh, followed by the tell-tale crunching as he knelt again on the ice, hovering above the pale green surface. Then Loki was chanting quietly again, his voice more strained than before, catching in places as he exhaled the chant.

The vibrations were getting stronger. Snowmobile, maybe. He couldn’t risk an aerial drone, with the white-blue landscape outside and far above the tree line in the Nordic wilderness. It was obvious. Too obvious, even for Captain Goody Two Shoes.

Stark lifted his faceplate. Friday would tell him, if the vibrations came closer, and he couldn’t see the details of Loki’s jerky movements under the helmet, what with all the other data and figures streaming across the screen.

The god’s movements were slower than before, his fingers swollen in places as the taller man knelt over the surface. It was apparent that Loki’s hands still ached, even though the blue skin seemed pocked at times by white patches as he shifted and moved his fingers over the ice again.

Then, when his chant broke off, echoed once on the cavern walls, Loki’s hands fell again into the icy surface. All traces of the blue-man-group had vanished, leaving one exhausted-looking alien at Stark’s proverbial feet, in front of a pile of green glowing ice. Tony thought he saw sweat dripping into the other man’s eyes…. Before he realized it was tears, dripping _from_ Loki’s eyes, instead.

Actual. Fucking. Alien-God. Tears.

“I was in a cave--” Stark blurted out, before clearing his throat. He began again, his voice  clearer--calmer--this time. “I was in a cave, in Afghanistan.”

“Ah,” Loki muttered. “That is why you dislike caves.”

Tony nodded once.

Loki gestured to his palm. The surface was blistered now, a bluish-red crust covering the inside of the god’s right hand, fading to white around the edges. “I’m Jotun.”

“Come again?” Tony blinked.

“I said, I’m Jotun!” Loki growled.

“Uh, gesundheit?” Tony asked. “I don’t actually know what that means, but it sort of sounds like you sneezed.”

Loki rolled his eyes skyward, and for a moment Stark thought he’d gone too far, that the other man would stand up and look for yet another skyscraper to defenestrate him again. “Come now, Stark, you must know about-- You do know how Jotuns… how the races came to be?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Stark crossed his arms. “Science?!”

Loki shook his head once, pinching the bridge of his nose with his good hand, before his deep voice rang out against the cavern walls, “Just as from Niflheim there arose coldness and all things grim, so what was facing close to Muspell was hot and bright, but Ginnungagap was as mild as a windless sky.” 

“Seriously, do you need a tissue?”

Loki shot him a scathing look, continuing, “And when the time and the blowing of the warmth met so that it thawed and dripped, there was a quickening from these flowing drops due to the power of the source of the heat, and it became the form of a man, and he was given the name _Ymir_.”

“Uh…” 

“Midgardians,” Loki muttered like a curse, moving to kneel over the surface again. “Stand ready, Stark. This is the hard part, breaking Midgard’s ties to the pathways.”

A warning beep sounded, and Stark turned towards the cave entry. “Uh oh. We got company.”

“Keep them off my back a moment longer, Stark.” Loki’s palms moved in a rhythmic circular motion.

Tony dug his boots into the ice, bracing himself. “Whatever you say, dear,” he tossed casually over his shoulder, before the faceplate slammed closed. “Now let’s see what _Avengers_ are still taking orders from the original FroYo...”

* * *

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony interrupted. “That’s not how it went down at all!”

“Oh?” Loki purred, like the cat who’d eaten the canary, and Tony was the canary. “And do tell, what essential element did I miss from my story?”

“Uh, the part where you were destroying _all_ of the pathways to Earth. You know, essentially stranding yourself here? On Earth? With us pithy humans?”

“Oh,” Loki studied his nails with feigned casualness. “That.”

Tony grimaced; Loki’s nails had never turned white again, after blackening when the taller man had spelled the guidelines to skip over Midgard. “Yes _, that_. Which is precisely why I think you all,” Tony pointed around the room at the crack-pot team assembled around the makeshift conference table, including the surprisingly _not_ dead Phil Coulson, “You all just need to back off just a little bit.”

“No can do Stark,” Coulson said. His hands were crossed over the table surface in a strange manner, and for a moment Tony wondered why Coulson’s cuticles looked so much neater on one hand. “Loki is still considered an international terrorist here on Earth. Rerouting some mystical alien being or not.”

“Surely you jest,” Loki grinned, like the Cheshire just before he disappears. “If I wanted to just,” he snapped his fingers, “vanish one day without warning, well I certainly wouldn’t have bothered saving your world.”

“Naw,” Tony reclined in his chair. “You’d miss me too much.” 

Loki hummed. “We shall see, Stark. We shall see.”

“Maybe we could get back to this debriefing?” Phil’s smile was too predatory for Stark’s liking. “I, for one, would like to know what motivated you to help a convicted mass murderer who shows up at the very window he threw you out of, begging for help.”

“I don’t _beg_ ,” Loki sniffed.

“Semantics,” Coulson conceded. “But I’m sure there’s a good story here.”

“Oh, yes!” Loki grinned, teeth bared as his eyes crinkled with humor. “A _very_ good story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had (have) tremendous plans for this story, but March and April were a mixture of crazy hours of work, teething babies, traveling husband, and my eldest on "holiday" for two and a half weeks. (don't get me started on that last one, the amount of holiday these kids get is just staggering, JFC England).
> 
> Nevertheless, I'd like to revisit this universe again soon. But today, I've been up for 19 hours and I've hit the wall, it's time to post and sleep!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* We, um. A thing occurred. I'd blame [Araydre](http://araydre.tumblr.com) but she's busy blaming me. Art [here](http://araydre.tumblr.com/post/160121047672).

It was only his third scotch that night. Or fourth. Something like that.

Tony studied the amber liquid, swirling his glass and then watching as the legs dripped slowly down the side of the glass. This bottle was older than he was, and nowadays, that _meant_ something.

He cracked his neck, rolling his head to one side. It was late; outside, the city stretched into the darkness, a plethora of light and dark and bright lights and noises even he could make out this high up in the penthouse, through his (now reinforced) glass cage.

Stark sighed. As years went, he supposed it wasn’t his worst birthday. After all, he was still alive, having survived palladium poisoning, an alien invasion, a crazy witch chick messing with his head, accidentally creating an evil artificial robot overlord while trying to save the earth, then literally, you know, _saving_ the earth, then finding out that his friend, his _friend_ , had hidden the truth, had sided with a _murderer_ over him…. and now…. And now Rhodey would walk with Stark’s newest proprietary tech. Forever.

He raised his glass, checking his watch. Past midnight now. Stark smirked, muttering in a sing-song voice, “Happy birthday to me.”

“Yes, happy _birthday_ , indeed” a deep voice echoed, near the balcony.

Tony chuckled, lifting his scotch to his lips again. “Of course.”

“You don’t seem surprised,” the voice said, before Loki emerged from the shadows. His face was sharper than Stark remembered, with greasy-black hair to his shoulders, but the fitted black suit was new, nicely tailored to the taller man’s form. It tucked and tightened in all the right places, accentuating the god’s slim figure.

Stark hummed appreciatively. “Either I’m dead anyway and seeing ghosts, or Wanda’s back looking for something on Steve’s orders, or this here,” he held up his glass, squinting at Loki’s figure through the amber liquid, distorted, “This is really, really good scotch and I’ve had a few more than four tipples.” He shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “So get the fuck outta my head, Wanda.”

“I’m not Wanda.”

“The hell you aren’t,” Stark grumbled. “No one else can get into the tower, and Loki’s dead.”

“I assure you, the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Loki grinned, plucking the extended tumbler from Stark’s grasp. “Now, about that drink you owe me." 

Stark blinked, suddenly lurching to his feet. “Shit. Shit!” he cursed, stumbling backwards. His bands weren’t—the suit—it was— “Friday!”

Loki raised one elegant eyebrow, before taking a sip of the scotch. “Hmm,” he sniffed the liquid. “Now that’s more like it.”

“Loki!” Stark positioned himself behind the bar, fingers fluttering over the bottle opener, then a cork, before finally palming a cork screw. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Having a drink,” Loki deadpanned, lifting the glass. “And from the sound of it, celebrating your birthday, are we not?”

“Uh,” Stark looked around; the room was dark, and suddenly he felt very, very small. Friday hadn’t answered, either. “No. We are definitely not _celebrating_ my birthday. You—You, for one thing, are dead.”

Loki grinned, all teeth. “Oh, yes,” he dropped the empty tumbler onto the bar, leaning towards Stark. “Thor does believe me to be in Niffleheim—or _Hel_ , I suppose.” Loki shuddered. “That was rather convenient.”

Tony shifted the corkscrew to his other hand, the pointy part aimed forward like a dagger.

“But as you can see, Stark ” Loki gestured, palms upward, “I’m _not_ dead. And here we are again, you and I,” he taunted. “Where are your _Avengers,_ now?”

Stark chuckled, suddenly, before taking a step back. His chuckle grew and grew, until a laugh stuck against his ribs, brittle and bruising, and the center of his sternum ached as it spilled forth, exploding into a full blown guffaw as his legs gave way as his back hit the wall.

The corkscrew clattered to the floor.

“Stark?” he heard Loki say, but Tony curled his arms around his center in a futile effort to stop the painful wheeze of his laughter, the way each shuddering chortle hurt, physically _hurt_ in his efforts to rein it in.

“Sorry,” he wheezed. “When you—” he laughed again, “Where are _my_ Avengers? _My_ Avengers? I can’t— I can’t, even—”

“I don’t understand,” Loki growled, stepping around the bar, “why this is _amusing_ to you.”

“Because,” Tony wiped his eyes, his shoulders shaking with suppressed humor. “Because they’re not _mine_ , clearly. I mean, I’m drinking alone on my birthday, hallucinating about dead aliens. Surely—” Stark chuckled again. “I mean, that’s a _little_ funny.”

“I’m not a hallucination,” Loki scoffed, pouring himself another drink. He tipped the last bit of the bottle into a glass.

“Uh huh, sure,” Stark wheezed, finally calming down. “If you are real, what do you want? Why are you _here_?”

“I need a favor,” Loki didn’t smile this time, and for some reason that made Stark nervous. “I need your assistance.”

“Uh, no.” Stark palmed the corkscrew again, from where it had fallen beside his leg. “I’m out of the superhero business, and I don’t help maniac alien invader hallucinations on my birthday.”

“Oh come now,” Loki’s cheek twitched, but the twinkle was gone from his eyes. “Not even to save Midgard one more time?”

“You’ve got the wrong guy,” Stark shoved back against the wall, edging himself upward. Maybe it had been a few more than four scotches, earlier. The bottle was empty, after all.

“What if I told you,” Loki’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, odd enough that Tony found himself studying the man’s face, as the taller man cleared his throat, and continued, “What if I told you, that I never wanted to rule your planet in the first place?”

“What?” Stark crossed his arms. “I’m supposed to believe you were just having a temper tantrum, of epic proportions, and decided the Earth was a good place for a hissy fit? Good one, Loki, tell me another.”

“If you must know, Stark, I wasn’t—I didn’t—” Loki finished his drink in one, swift gulp, setting the glass on the marble counter. His hands moved like he didn’t know what to do with them, without a drink to hold, and Stark watched as the dark-haired man shifted uncharacteristically from side to side. “Surely you have something stronger than this…” Loki held up the bottle he’d finished. “What was this?" 

“Scotch,” Stark scowled. “Damned good scotch, too. And you drank it all. If you wanted antifreeze, you can try the vodka in the blue bottle over there, on the rocks.”

“Why would I put _rocks_ in my drink?” Loki reached for the bottle, as Stark sidestepped around the god’s outstretched arm and nicked it instead.

“Allow me, Mister Tall, Dark, and Scary,” Tony poured three fingers into a fresh glass over a few cubes of ice, and garnished with lime and a splash of soda water. “Since I owe you a drink anyway.” Stark slid the drink along the bar, stepping sideways again until he rounded the bar. “Now, you were going to tell me about why you didn’t want to be king, is that it? I’m all ears, Loki.”

“I was—” Loki took a sip, grimacing, before he took a bigger swallow. “I was working for someone. His name is Thanos,” Loki spat the word out like it had bit him, “The Chitauri are his. And he’s going to come back for Midgard, unless you help me.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his eyes close as his gut clenched in the all too familiar feeling sickening clench of fear in his stomach at the mention of the Chitauri, remembering their forces on the other side of that wormhole, remembered falling— “And you expect me to believe you? To _trust_ you?”

“Yes,” Loki said simply. “And in return, I will make sure your world is safe—that Midgard no longer stands in the way of the Mad Titan’s ambitions.” The taller man finished his drink in one swallow, before neatly placing it on the counter. “Thanks for the drink, Stark.”

Tony blinked, glancing around the empty penthouse. He paced back around the bar, picking up the abandoned glass and sniffing at its contents. It smelled of lime and soda water, and was cold in his grasp from the ice.

It was real, after all.

“Fuck,” Stark muttered, tossing the ice down the drain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

* * *

“Uh huh,” Coulson leaned back in his chair.

Tony shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Call Steve? Oh, wait...”

“So what did you do?” the Asian-looking chick Coulson had brought along chimed in, Mai or May or something.

Stark tapped his knuckles on the conference table. “Had another drink”

“Only one more?” Loki asked, amused.

“Shut up,” Tony replied without missing a beat. “Then I went to bed. Double checked that Wanda wasn’t anywhere nearby, from Friday’s energy scans, first.”

“Really?” Loki’s voice was intrigued. “You’ve developed a technique to scan for her energy signature?”

Tony winked. “Don’t worry Snowflake, it doesn’t work on your mumbo jumbo.”

“Pity,” Coulson chimed in.

* * *

He woke on the lounge sofa the next day with a splitting headache, to the sounds of someone banging around in the kitchen. Groaning, Stark sat up, then blinked as his brain slowly caught up with what his eyes could see.

There, wearing decidedly more casual clothing than the night before, was Loki. Cooking. In his kitchen. Stark rubbed his forehead. “Friday, did I drink any absinthe last night?” 

“Nay, yeh did not,” the brogue voice chimed, “Shall I order yeh some?”

“No,” Tony grumbled, rubbing his forehead. “Friday, are you registering anyone else in the Penthouse?”

“Just us birds, Sir.”

Tony moaned, as his stomach lurched. He stumbled to his feet, hurdling towards the toilet around the corner, barely skidding to a stop before the porcelain god before his insides seized. “Oh hell,” he grumbled, resting his forearm on the seat. He felt hot and cold at once, and like his brain was clawing its way out of his skull, as his stomach threatened to rebel again.

A cool hand nudged his shoulder. “Drink this.”

“No, you—you—doorknob!”

“Stark—”

Tony groaned, leaning forward to be sick again. “Just kill me already.”

“Yes let’s do so,” Loki hissed. “It’d certainly be easier.”

“What do you want?” Stark spat into the toilet, before waving his hand over the sensor to flush.

“I told you last night, I need your assistance.”

“Right,” Tony coughed, his throat raw. “And I’ve got some ocean front property in Arizona to sell you.”

“I have no interest in _buying_ any portion of Midgard.” 

“It’s a saying, Lokes—”

“Lokes?!”’ Loki scoffed.

“Whatever,” Tony shrugged, feeling his stomach lurch again. “Gimme your poison.”

“I assure you, it’s not _poison_ ,” the taller man spat, thrusting a glass of green-black liquid into Stark’s hands. The smell alone made the mortal’s eyes water.

“Ugh, I take it back, I’m not drinking this,” Tony shoved the glass towards Loki, but the man moved a step back.

“Drink it, Stark!”

“It smells worse than my barf,” Tony protested. “Can’t you just throw me out a window again?”

“Tempting,” Loki grinned. “Drink it or I’ll make you.” 

Tony narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust you.”

“I know.”

“So why would I drink this?” he gestured to the mixture; for a moment he thought it had even gurgled back at him. 

“A thousand years of looking after Thor and you think I haven’t perfected a hangover remedy?” Loki raised one elegant eyebrow in a perfectly formed expression that Stark knew meant he was an idiot.

“Fuck,” Tony hissed between his teeth. “If this makes me grow antlers, I will seriously injure you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Loki glowered, before turning to go.

Tony pinched his nose, biting back another wave of nausea as he lifted the glass to his lips, considering. On one hand, _Loki_ , Tony grimaced. On the other hand, hangover cure. And really now, if the other man had intended to injure him, to take over the penthouse or the armor or whatever, couldn’t he have done so while Tony was asleep? And then there was the whole ‘F _riday can’t sense the guy at all_ ’ thing going on, which was really, really strange because Jarvis could tell Loki was in the penthouse, and Friday was— was—

“Next Gen Tech,” Tony whispered. “Fuck it.”

He drank.


End file.
